The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,72

wanted to hear. She really believed that. But by the saints, could he not mark the occasion with a few tender sentiments?

Nay. But she would.

“Wulf.” She placed her hand on his chest as he ducked into a narrow entrance to the gallery over the living quarters. “I cannot wait to be your wife.”

His pace slowed from a hard charge to a thoughtful walk.

“I cannot wait another moment for you to be mine.” The heat in his voice reminded her of that night together outside his encampment when they’d talked about how passion fueled the lives of his people.

Her heart warmed at his declaration. Simple. Direct. Heartfelt.

She knew it in her bones.

“But since it is a momentous occasion, could we not wash away the blood of the day first?”

Wulf paused outside his bedchamber, his face shadowed in the harsh light of flickering torches. At first, he frowned. Then, after a moment, he threw back his dark head and laughed.

“Yes.” He kicked open the door to his chamber. “By all that is holy, we will wash this day from our skin first. I need hot water,” he called out into the empty corridor like a man accustomed to having his wishes granted. “And a tub.”

“I fear no one is here to serve you. They are all out wading through the wreckage.” Gwendolyn hated to think of so much destruction. So much to rebuild.

“After a battle, everyone wants to return to normal. Even if there is no meal, they gather in the hall because it is familiar.” He settled her on his bed and then moved back to the door.

A knock sounded upon it before he even reached it.

“You see?” He swung it wide with a flourish, and sure enough, most every child that resided in the village stood outside the door with a bucket in hand.

Gwendolyn recognized several of them from those quiet, awful hours locked up in the keep. She gave thanks the day had been won and all of them had remained safe.

One by one, they trooped in to fill a tub carried by the biggest of them—a boy almost old enough that he could have fought with a sword this day. Another year, and he would be among the men.

In no time, the water was poured, dried rose petals thrust in by a small, giggling girl at the end of the line, and the group shuffled out of the chamber to whatever repast the cooks offered in the hall. Gwendolyn had no doubt that Wulf would use his ample resources to be sure the widows were housed and all his people fed. But for tonight—right now—she had this magnificent man all to herself.

“Would you like assistance?” Wulf asked, locking the door behind the children and approaching the bed.

The low rumble of his voice told her he thought about the same things that she did. Removing their clothes. Being together.

In spite of the dark hell wrought today, her body warmed in anticipation.

“I think if I have help, I will not end up in the tub.” She smiled shyly at him, remembering how scared she had been of his touch a week ago.

So much had changed. She had changed.

“I would take another oath—”

“Nay!” Shaking her head, she tugged her smock up and off. “It was only a manner of speaking. I trust you.”

His avid gaze raked over her body in her thin shift and a blush crawled over her skin.

“You must speak less, perhaps?” He did not quite suppress his teasing smile.

“No. This, I will not do.” Making quick work of the shift, she dashed for the tub and dropped into the water with a squeal. “The water is scarcely warmer than the river.”

“Then I will warm you.” He stripped off his tunic and belt, his weapons hitting the floor with a clank of steel against stone.

She licked her lips at the sight he made. A few dark bruises shadowed some places, but his hardened male strength had kept him alive and safe. Her valiant warrior. Her favorite captor.

“I cannot imagine how you will fit.” The oval basin was deep, but narrow.

“Women like to say that, but it has never been the case.” He strode over to the tub and stepped inside, lifting her easily to sit on his lap.

“You are wicked,” she accused, breathless from the feel of his naked thighs beneath her rump. “But before we, ah…consummate the marriage that will happen sooner or later, I have things I would like to say to you.”

Reaching for a rag and